Accomplishing the Impossible
by IamLordMoldie
Summary: He's the bloody BoyWhoLived! He almost defeated Voldemort! What's a little Snape problem against him, eh?


Another day, another mischief managed. So passes the days of the Weasley twins. However, in Snape's perspective, another day passing signifies another day of madly chasing the twins down a crowded corridor, making a fool out of himself in front of dozens of young wizards and witches when he should be spending his time properly terrorizing the little snots to puddles. Now that the twins have passed on, so to speak, Snape could only count his blessings until another daring Gryffindor hooligan decides to step up and follow the Weasley precedent. To be fair, Snape had to admit to himself that it was equally as possible for a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw to be crowned King…or Queen for that matter. Slytherin? No, no Slytherin would stoop so low as to resort to common pranks. Murder, poisoning, torture, perhaps…but pranks? Not his sweet little Slytherins.

111111111111111

Snape swooped, there was really no other word for it, between the rows of desks. Two stunningly emerald eyes followed the vampire-ish figure as it paused only to frighten Neville into dropping an extra teaspoon of Ground Unicorn Horn into his cauldron. After the angry, frothing, purple liquid was cleared from the from the workroom (it seemed that Snape was expecting such an explosion for he didn't hesitate to flick his wand, which was already in his hand, to banish the acidic mess), and roughly fifty points was deducted from Gryffindor, Snape glided to his desk with all the dignity he could muster while sporting a purple sleeve (the aftereffects of Longbottom's botched potion).

Harry's attention was no longer on his cauldron. It seemed that neither he nor Hermione, who was his partner, really minded his distraction. In fact, Hermione seemed to prefer the lack of Harry, for her potion immediately lost about 50 of its exploding tendencies. The only person who seemed to notice Harry's temporary ADD was Ron, who sat…or stood…err…whose cauldron was situated behind Harry's. Tapping his mate upon the shoulder, something that should never be attempted while brewing an Advanced Potion, mind you, Ron questioned Harry's sanity in the way that good buddies may.

"Thinking about a certain girl, mate?"

Hermione extracted her attention from her potion long enough to make some scathing remark about boys and their dirty, preoccupied minds.

"If you spent as much time paying attention in class as you do to girls and their 'sexy asses' swinging their way across the classroom, perhaps you'd actually be able to contribute a little to your own papers."

Harry and Ron cringed. They looked on the verge of laughter but they sobered at the look of Promised Death on Hermione's face.

"All right, all right, Hermione. We get it. Doom, Doom, Doom. Just don't say…that phrase…again."

"I shall say 'sexy ass' whenever I damn please, Ronald." She snapped. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye she measured the necessary amount of lacewings and boomslang skin. "By the way, you're potions turning green."

As opposed to the silver…opaque color it should be.

"Shit!" Ron cursed as he quickly prodded out the flame underneath his cauldron and tried to figure what went wrong.

"Five points from Gryffindor for swearing, Weasley."

Ron grumbled as Snape swept past him, glancing at his potion, which had turned the nasty color of stewed, moldy cabbage.

"I swear he just smiled. That greasy little- Oi! Harry, mate, you with me here? Bloody hell, what are you looking at?"

Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's face. No results. Instead, he followed Harry's intense gaze only to land on…

"SNAPE'S ARSE? You're staring at bloody _Snape's_ arse? Have you gone completely insane?" Ron hissed, his appalled expression outlining his every freckle.

"Shh…" Harry muttered, his eyes still unmoving.

"God, you make me feel dirty. I feel like a pervert. Do you feel like a pervert, Hermione?"

Hermione made a noncommittal grunt while stirring six times counterclockwise.

"Harry, if you can tear your eyes from those skinny little Death Eater buns, I'd appreciate a little help with my potion. You think I can salvage it?"

Harry sighed, lifting his head from his hand. His eyes flicked over to Ron's cauldron. He seemed to deeply analyze it, muttering to himself every once in a while.

"Just a little more lacewing, no…that would destabilize the effect of the entire potion…phoenix tears? No…that would just thicken the entire thing. Hmmm…"

Ron wrung his hands, acting not unlike a father when it came time to give birth.

"Harry, you're killing me here. Will I flunk this class horribly?"

"Undoubtedly, with your thick Neanderthal skull, Mr. Weasley. Your head would be put to better use as a battering ram."

Snape sneered, his meticulous, graceful hands gesturing over Ron's potion.

"What is this Mr. Weasley? I said two newt tails, clearly, you have added three. What color is this potion supposed to be?"

"S-silver, sir." Ron stuttered, his eyes downcast. After five years of Snape, every student was every bit as in awe and fear of Snape as they were the first day they laid eyes on him, if not more.

"And what color is it now?"

Snape had his back to the cauldron, his attention, and pleasure, focused entirely on one poor, unfortunate, soul. Oh yes, the beast had caught sight of its victim and it wasn't about to let go anytime soon. Of course, not facing the cauldron, Snape didn't see Harry walk up to the cauldron and drop something in, stirring two times counterclockwise.

Ron grinned. "Silver, sir."

"No, you nitwit. It is green, I can find better Healing Draught collecting on the floor of the Girl's Bathroom. Furthermore-."

Snape turned to the cauldron, stopping abruptly in midtirade. He seemed speechless. But then again, we are talking about Snape.

"Potter, meet me after class."

And Harry just couldn't find it within him to protest.

……………..

The rest of the class had gone horribly. Neville had dropped a vial of centaur sweat into his potion and had to be escorted to the Hospital Wing after sprouting tufts of green shrubbery over various parts of his body.

"Poor Neville. He's only taking this class to please his grandmother." Hermione tsked, bottling up sample of her perfect potion.

"The poor bugger would never last as an Auror. One look at him and the Death Eaters would die of laugh- OW!"

Hermione glowered at him, her lips set in a straight line. She waved her vial in his face.

"Put a cork in it."

No one bothered to point out her double meaning. Sometimes, silence is the best answer.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right, Harry?"

"No, Hermione. I think that you leaving me inside the door with the horrible Professor Snape would only result in my death. Please don't leave me, you're my last hope." Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, I'll be fine."

Hermione smiled.

"Good, we'll let you suffer in silence then." She linked arms with Ron and they paraded down the corridor, presumably toward the library.

Harry sighed. Time to face the music. Time to bargain for his soul. Time to tackle a wild bear in his stony den. Harry rubbed his temples. There were a lot of things he'd rather be doing. As the last student packed up his books and brushed past Harry, sending him a sympathetic look, and left, Harry had no choice but to face the black cloud of evil lounging behind the desk.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Close the door, Mr. Potter."

_"Actually, sir, I'd rather not. You see, I'm rather afraid that I'll be unable to control myself and find myself enticing you into bending me over a table and buggering my eyes out."_

Yes, that would go over nicely. Harry closed the door quietly, his shoulders squared, his gait controlled. He raised his eyes to Snape's, meeting them defiantly.

"What did you do to Mr. Weasley's potion?"

"Is there something wrong with it?" Harry tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation of dampening palms.

"It's rather the lack of 'something wrong it' that has drawn my attention, Mr. Potter. If Weasley had cut off his own finger, dropped it in the potion, and turned it in, I would be more pleased than I am now." His lips quirked. "Much more pleased."

Harry let the silky baritone slide down his spine. He fought the shudder that threatened to declare his discomfort. He closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his unruly bangs out of his eyes.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I will have you speak to me with the proper respect. You shall address me as sir or Professor. I won't tolerate any of your cheek, Potter."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What the hell do you want, _sir_?" Harry's deadpanned.

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously.

"Detention, Potter. For the next week."

Harry nodded offhandedly.

"Anything else? Or was that all you wanted from me, sir?"

_"No, Harry, that's not all I want from you."_

Snape growled.

"Two weeks."

"Go on, I know you want to say it. How about three?" Harry's eyes twinkled merrily.

It seemed as if Snape was being left out on a joke. A cruel, mean, sadistic little joke. It was Snape that did the leaving behind, thank you very much. He didn't like this new feeling, didn't like it at all.

"And what," He sneered at Harry, "-is so funny, may I ask?"

"No, you may not." Harry tapped Snape's nose with his finger. He laughed and skipped out of the classroom, leaving a horrified Snape behind.

"Bloody hell…"

Snape made note to lock up his batch of Pepper-Up Potion more carefully next time.


End file.
